Sharon's here. She's having a cup of tea with gran. She says Wednesdays are always quiet on the mobile hairdressing circuit. She keeps looking at me. It's like cutting hair is some kind of addiction, and right now I'm in danger of becoming her fix.
I cut my own hair with electric clippers. I give myself a number two every other week. Sharon says people like me are killing her trade. She's talking bollocks. I've seen what she charges.
Gran says I should go to the doctors if I'm only having one number two every other week. I wish she'd get a new battery for her hearing aid.
Mum just asked if I've found my Higgs Particle yet. She seems to be under the impression that I've mislaid it. Attempting to explain that it's currently a hypothetical particle would be futile. Dad says it's probably just slipped down the back of the sofa or something. Sometimes I envy the simple way in which their collective brains work. They appear to see life in a far less complicated way than my good self.
Dave's finally gone home! His dispute with Sharon regarding Euro 2012 and a TV remote-control unit is now over. Dave claims that a dead rapper is responsible for her change of heart. Apparently Tupac Shakur told 'Psychic Sharon' that relationships only work if both partners are prepared to give and take.
Gran says she prefers Utterly Butterly to Lurpak Shakur. Mum says she can't comment because she's yet to hear Utterly Butterly's work. I'm glad things are back to normal.
Dad's dull mate, Geoff, is here. He's talking about his socket set. Apparently it's a thirty-seven Piece, drop-forged, heat-treated, chrome vanadium socket set with black oxide finish. Dad is rubbing his left earlobe. This is a signal. One of us is now meant to call his mobile phone. Gran has taken it upon herself to make that call.
Gran: Hello. It's me.
Dad looks confused at this point. Gran wasn't meant to start a conversation. She's merely required to make his phone ring so that he can extricate himself from Geoff's boring company.
Dad: A-hem. Why are you calling? You're sitting opposite me.
Gran: I saw you rubbing your left earlobe.
Dad: Oh for god's sake! Just put the phone down.
Gran: But aren't you bored?
Dad: Please. Just put the phone down!
Gran: Well, if you insist.
Geoff looks bemused. He couldn't have suspected anything though as he's now talking about hedge trimmers. Gran is shit at this kind of thing.
It's pissing down again. Dad says he's never seen so much rain. Gran begs to differ. She keeps referring to The Great Flood of 1965. I've checked local records and can find no mention of said flood. Dad says that's because there wasn't one. Apparently gran is referring to an incident involving a faulty washing machine. This revelation has led me to reevaluate gran's other annus horribilis, that of The Great Fire of 1974. Mum has verified my suspicions. Turns out she merely burnt a piece of toast.
Dave says his gran had a horribilis annus once. He says she was forced to take antibiotics for months on end. His ability to completely miss the point of any given conversation continues to fascinate me.
Dave also says that toast cannot be burnt. He claims it's already burnt. I wish he'd go home. A dispute with Sharon regarding the custody of a TV remote-control during Euro 2012 has seen him languishing here for almost a week now!
Venus moved across the surface of the sun today. I arose from my bed early to witness the final stages of it's transit. What I saw left me speechless. Dave says he can’t understand how ‘some black splodge’ can cause such excitement. I haven’t told him that it was too cloudy to observe the once-in-a-lifetime phenomenon. Nor have I revealed the reason behind my heightened sense of happiness.
You see, I was not alone. The mysterious properties of Venus had also attracted the presence of that nice checkout girl. We exchanged smiles before standing in relative silence, heads craned towards a cloudy sullen sky, both of us knowing that the brightest of all the planets would continue to elude us. It didn’t matter. I got to walk her home.
Venus has made the news today. People with telescopes and sun filters expressing themselves in ‘oos’ and ‘ahhs’. Impressive as the pictures may appear, they are but poor imitations of true beauty and wonderment. In my eyes, checkout girl cannot be outshone. She is my Venus. I won’t be divulging this to Dave. I fear piss-taking on scales previously unprecedented. Being sensitive is frowned upon around here.
Gran's sitting at a small picnic table in the middle of the road. She says it's the Jubilee and that she's just entering into the spirit of things. No one else is. It's pissing down. Mum is currently directing traffic around her whilst dad commandeers a pile traffic cones from the back of a council truck. I knew today would end in tears.
Dad says that mum used to suffer from postnatal depression. He says she would burst into tears whenever she looked at me. I'm mindful of the fact that this condition is relatively common. I do find it rather disheartening to learn, however, that my birth also caused gran to display the same symptoms!